


When the Lights Go On Again

by Margo_Kim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, POV Original Character, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margo_Kim/pseuds/Margo_Kim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Avengers kinkmeme: In an alternate universe where m/m sex is perfectly fine in the 1940s, Steve Rogers as the Star-Spangled Man was just as much of a sex object as the chorus girls in his show. One young male soldier starts fantasizing about him to get through the nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Lights Go On Again

Daniel and Frankie voted for Grable, of course, but Sam was insistent. “If y’all wanna help pay for the poster, then this tank become a democracy. Until then.” Sam waved his bills in their face before slapping them in Lieutenant Percy’s hand. “I’ll take one Star Spangled Man and y’all can keep jerking off to your scraps of Rita Hayward.”

Sam wasn’t joking about Rita Hayward. On his last leave, Frankie had picked up a copy of Life with her on the cover, and for the last few months he and Daniel had been swapping the increasingly battered magazine back and forth. They’d made the mistake of trading their porn to some Marines in a small French village for six cases of alcohol. Now the booze was long gone, and all Daniel and Frankie had to keep them going was Rita’s winsome smile, which was getting more and more strained as time went on. “Goddamn it,” Daniel complained as Sam hung his new pinup of Captain America on the ceiling of the tank. “I wish I was a queer. The army’d be a damn feast for me. Instead, Sam’s got all the eye candy, and I’m standing out in the bread line, begging for scraps. If Eleanor Roosevelt visited camp tomorrow, I’d spend her entire speech at half-mast.”

Sam smiled at them as he taped the corners into place. “Cheer up, boys. We’re gonna liberate Europe and then all the big-titted lovers of freedom won’t be able to get their hands off of you. But until that beautiful day—” Sam patted that All-American chest lovingly. “Y’all best get used to Steve here.”

The worst thing about Captain America, Frankie thought many a lonely night, was how much he made you want to want him. Now, Frankie wasn’t into guys—though God knows he’d tried to be since the day he got drafted—but there was something about Cap that made you feel good. Sam had picked up one of Cap’s more demure poses. Frankie’d seen ones hanging in other barracks and painted on the sides of planes that made Frankie go red from hairline to belly button. If nothing else, they never failed to make Frankie feel inadequate about what he’d look like if you stripped him down to his tighty-whiteys and told him to look coy. But in Sam’s pinup, Cap was covered, at least from the waist down. He was climbing out of a pool, the water dripping down his hair and chest. His arms rippled with strength, the kind of strength that made you wanna reach out and touch just to see how it could be real. You could just see the top of his swimming trunks above the edge of the pool, and they looked to be about one second from falling right down. 

But what kept Frankie looking was Captain America’s smile. It was a big, broad, bright thing. Frankie wondered what he could have seen that had made him so happy. Daniel joked that the photographer must have just flashed him to get a grin like that, but there wasn’t anything dirty about the look on Cap’s face. It was joy, pure and simple. Frankie thought that when peacetime came—ushered in, no doubt, by Cap and the Howling Commandos—it would look like Cap’s smile. 

“It’s weird,” Frankie said quietly one night while Daniel was out taking a piss. 

“What’s that?” Sam asked. 

“How you can start to like someone you never even met.”

Sam knew what he meant. He glanced up at Cap and smiled at him. “Nothing strange about it at all. Seems to me it makes a lot more sense than hating them.”

Frankie still wasn’t into guys. If he was, he and Sam would have been having a grand old time while they made Daniel stand outside and rub one out in the rain. But Frankie was into Cap, and soon enough, Frankie ended up just giving Rita to Daniel. In the dark, dark, dark of the night when everyone else was asleep—or was pretending to be asleep and was doing exactly what Frankie was about to do—he closed his eyes and thought of Cap’s smile. Cap’s blue eyes. Cap’s wet body. In his head, Cap finally pulled himself up out of that pool. He shook his blond hair out of his eyes and held his hand towards Frankie. “You got a towel I can borrow, soldier?” 

And whereas in real life, Frankie’d be more apt to stammer or joke, in his head, he just gives Cap a sly kinda smile that wouldn’t look out of place in one of Howard Hughes’ flicks. “What do ya need a towel for?” Frankie says. “The sun feels swell.”

Steve grins that grin of his in response and stretched his big arms to the sky. Each night, Frankie painted in one of a thousand different torsos here from a thousand beautiful soldiers he had seen in this exact pose, but he could never get Steve just right. Seems to him that Steve should be better than anything Frankie’s ever seen, and Frankie didn’t even know how to imagine that. “You’re right,” Steve tells Frankie. “The sun is nice.” Then he gives a Frankie a look that makes Frankie’s cock stiffen, a sort of low-lidded, lip-parted stare Frankie’d seen Jean Harlow give. How inexperienced was he when it came to thinking about men? His only frame of reference was women. But it works on Steve. God it works as Steve lowers himself next to Frankie, lying on his towel by the side of the pool. “How do you say we pass the time while we dry off?” Steve murmurs in Frankie’s ear. 

They’ve passed the time a lot of ways by now. At first, Frankie’d picture himself giving it to Steve, the good Captain stretched out and moaning underneath him. But that was more from lack of imagination than desire. He did the same thing to Cap that he’d done to Dotty before he’d shipped out and while he couldn’t wait to do it to Dotty again, that wasn’t what he wanted to do here. Next he pictured Cap giving it to him, sometimes hard and fast in the way you can only ever do it your head, sometimes slow and gentle, one finger at a time until Frankie’s writhing and shaking underneath him. “Give it up, Frankie,” Steve purrs as he strokes that sweet spot. “You look so damn handsome right now.”

Frankie had jerked himself off and pretended it was Steve’s hand. He’d rutted himself against a pillow and pretended it was Steve’s clenched thighs. Once—only once, mind you, because once was enough—he’d given it to a banana peel and pretended it was Steve’s back door. It’d felt alright, better than Frankie had thought it would when Private Vega had told him about it, but it wasn’t worth Daniel’s endless laughter when he’d walked in on it. “Jesus, Frankie,” Daniel’d said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I know you’re desperate, but you don’t have to start fucking the food.”

Tonight, Frankie closed his eyes and dove into his favorite fantasy, the one that made his toes curl no matter what, the one he couldn’t go near during the day time unless he had his helmet strategically located in his lap. Steve pulls himself up out of the pool, smiles, asks for the towel. Frankie smiles back and flirts, and Steve lies down. Same as usual. Except this time, when Steve asks how they should pass the time, Frankie sits himself up and pushes Steve all the way down. “I’ve got an idea,” Frankie says. He knows from (his imagined) experience that the trunks come off as easily as it looks like they will, but Frankie leaves them on for now. Steve’s cock is hot and thick, even through the damp fabric, and Frankie runs his fingertips over it, just outlining it so gentle that Steve has to shake. 

“Come on,” Steve says when he can’t take it anymore, when his trunks are tenting so high that Frankie almost scared of what will come out of them. Steve’s clenching his fists so hard, they’re turning white, and Frankie’s not cruel enough to leave him like this, so he’ll take care of him soon enough. But first, Frankie lowers his face against the wet fabric and mouths at the hardened cock. Somewhere above him, Steve swallows his curses as Frankie works his way down the shaft, wrapping his mouth around the side like a series of wet kissed. When he wraps his lips around the tip, the taste of pool water and precum nearly makes Frankie climax right then. “Please,” Steve begs and Frankie can’t wait any longer either. Two fingers are enough to pull Steve’s trucks down, and as the fabric scrapes over his cock, Steve twists and moans. 

If Frankie had enough difficulty imagining a shirtless Steve in a different position from the picture, imagining him naked was almost impossible. In the end, Frankie decided that if Steve’s torso was a composite of a thousand different ones, his cock was pretty much just Sam’s, but pale pink instead of light brown. Even the veins were attractive, those throbbing blue-purple life lines that pulsed under Frankie’s fingers. 

“Damn,” Steve says as Frankie wraps his long fingers around Steve’s shaft. That’s the most Steve ever swears, a quiet _damn_ followed by an even deeper blush than he had before. Right now, Steve’s as pink as a rose and covered in sweat, the kind of sheen you get when every muscle in your body is tensed. Frankie works his hand up and down, getting just the perfect rhythm, while the other hand reaches underneath. He gently scrapes Steve’s balls with just the tips of his fingernails while the other hand keeps up the rhythm—up, down, up, down, up, down. Steve pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and laughs. “Soldier,” he says with tired joy in his voice, “you are _cruel_.”

Now, Frankie wouldn’t want a national hero to think badly of him so he decides to do his patriotic duty and put the poor man out of his misery. As he lowers his head, he stares into Steve’s deep blue eyes, as deep as the ocean. (Frankie was from Kansas. He’d never seen the ocean before he shipped out. At least if Frankie died tomorrow, he died having seen the ocean.) He breathes on the tip, just breathes as his thumb pulls back the foreskin a bit. It’s a bit like swimming. There’s the breath and then the plunge. 

He kisses the head. It’s a dry kiss. You’d think it chaste were it anywhere else. He kisses it almost reverently. His tongue darts into the slit and he shocks Steve into twitching. He kisses and then his mouth opens wider, just enough to take in the bulb of the head. Even that’s so thick that Frankie wonders if it’ll fit, but it goes in alright. It fits perfectly, in fact. He licks and sucks the tip while his hands work the shaft. Steve’s cock feels like iron by now, it seems impossible that he could get any harder, but Frankie’s working him. All that’s coming out of Steve’s mouth now is a babble of words, one barely connecting with the next, until Steve grabs Frankie’s shoulder with one hand and his chin with another. He makes Frankie look him in the eye, those blue, blue eyes surrounded by Steve’s sweaty, reddened, perfect face. 

“Yes, Frank, please,” Steve pants. He calls him _Frank_ , like he’s a man instead of a scared little boy only a few months into his eighteenth year, a runt of a man who hasn’t even killed anybody yet and doesn’t really want to, even if they do have it coming. He calls him _Frank_ , and for that, Frankie takes him all in, from the tip of the head to the base of the shaft. He buries his nose in the course, rough hair and breaths it in. Steve’s cock bumps against the back of his throat as Steve’s hands clench Frankie’s shoulders. “Frank,” Steve moans. “ _Frank_.” One hand moves up to the base of Frankie’s neck and he uses that push himself in even deeper. Frankie starts to gag, but then he starts to move up and down the shaft, in and out, in and out. Steve’s cock pops out of his mouth, a strand of spit still connecting them, before Frankie takes a deep breath and swallows Steve again right down to the hilt. And all the while, Steve moans and groans and thrusts, and through the animal noises Frankie’s drawing out of him, Steve’s saying, “Yes, Frank, that’s so good, Frank, you’re so good. You’re going to get through this just fine, I’m going to keep you safe, Frank. You’re so good.”

He comes the same time Steve does. He doesn’t even have to touch himself (although a world away in the darkness of his cot, Frankie had been stroking his cock and it felt so damn good that Frankie worried he’d scream and give the game away). The spurt of hot spunk hits the back of Frankie’s throat as rich and intoxicating as Frankie’s first sip of wine, the sip so good that he and Daniel traded every skin mag they had for one drink more. Steve tastes sweet and salty at the same time. Frankie swallows what he can, but Steve’s spurting out so much that Frankie can’t take it all so Steve pulls out and paints Frankie’s chest silver. By the time they’re both done and Frankie collapses next to Steve by the poolside, they’re sticky, aching messes grinning stupidly at each other while the sunshine dries their cum. Even in his fantasy, Frankie feels so utterly spent, like he could happily lay here and never get up again. Like there’s not a world outside this pool and Steve and Steve’s big smile. 

But the dream was already fading as Frankie furtively cleaned himself up and rolled over for proper sleep. He tried to think of Dotty at times like this. She was waiting for him, and he was waiting for her. They were gonna start a family together when he came back. She was the entire damn reason he was fighting. Most times, though he’d never admit it, her eyes and her hands and her kind ways were a hell of a lot more compelling reasons to keep fighting than that flag was. But it was hard sometimes to remember what she was when the bullets were flying and the bombs were falling. She was a creature of peacetime. She had no place with him here on the battlefield. So until he came home and found himself in Dotty’s arms again, when he didn’t want to be alone, Cap was there on the ceiling, always smiling and always just on the brink of pulling himself out of the water, ready to show Frankie something he’d never dreamed of before. Dotty would have to wait until the lights came back. 


End file.
